


Rock You Like a Hurricane (The Scorpions)

by Clitler



Series: Destiel Playlist [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accountant Castiel (Supernatural), Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Boys Kissing, Castiel's Dom brow, Divorce, Drinking to Cope, Hookups, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Mentions of Lisa & Ben, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, The Roadhouse (bar), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, castiel in control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 20:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12825525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clitler/pseuds/Clitler
Summary: Charlie helps Dean celebrate his divorce with a trip to the Roadhouse





	Rock You Like a Hurricane (The Scorpions)

**Author's Note:**

> Just some good ole smut that, of course, got away from me  
> Yes, that means there will be a second (and possibly more) chapter to this verse

Rock You Like a Hurricane (The Scorpions)

 

            The plastic buzz of his phone skittering across the nightstand and the annoying blare of Katy Perry’s ‘I Kissed a Girl’ is not the kind of wakeup call Dean Winchester is interested in this early on a Saturday morning, but he knows if he doesn’t answer, Charlie will literally come over to his apartment and physically drag his ass out of bed in the harshest way possible.  So, with only his own well-being in mind, Dean slap-grabs his phone before it can plunge off the edge of the nightstand and slide under the bed and flicks a thumb across the green ‘answer’ dot.

 

            “Yeah,” he grumps, flopping onto his back and scrubbing a hand up and down his face and into his hair, scratching short nails through the remnants of gel that are flaking off onto his pillow.

 

            Charlie’s voice screeches into his ear so loud he has to pull the phone away from his head and turn it on speaker to keep from going deaf, “ **So, you _are_ alive**! It was ever so considerate of you to call your _best friend_ last night to let me know that guy didn’t murder-death-kill you!  You know, just because he looked like a tax accountant didn’t mean he wasn’t a secret Bundy!  I was worried sick! Have you even checked your phone!  I called like, 30 times, left, like 50 messages, you…you… ** _scruffy-looking nerf herder_**!”

 

            Dean smirked as he rolled over to sit up on the edge of his bed, which was a big mistake and resulted in him having to hold his head in the hand not holding his phone to keep it from rolling off his shoulders, “Who’s scruffy-looking?” he laughed tiredly at his phone, which only earned him a not-amused huff from Charlie, “Look, my head is about to explode and I feel like Jabba shit in my mouth last night so, can we continue this tirade after I coffee up and shower?”

 

            “Fine,” Charlie growled, “downstairs, 20 minutes.  And don’t forget to feed Jabba.  He’s probably feeling pretty neglected after you ditched him all night in his hour of need.”

 

            Dean glanced at the end of his bed, where his 20-pound calico lounged, somehow managing to look both indolent and severely pissed simultaneously, “Yeah, he’s giving me the Sam Winchester TM bitchface as we speak.  Almost makes me wish I'd let him keep his balls.  20 minutes, downstairs, got it.”

 

            Dean hung up and slung his phone on the rumpled bed as he headed for the bathroom, scratching his naked ass as he went and only wincing slightly at the ache and slippery feeling back there.  After taking what felt like a ten-minute piss, brushing his teeth and performing a very ginger scrub-down in his tiny shower, he was beginning to feel somewhat human.  Jabba strolled majestically after him as he stumbled into the kitchen, pulling his favorite Steely Dan t shirt over his wet hair as he made his way down the hallway without knocking a single picture off the wall this time.  Popping a cartridge into his Krupps and pushing the start button, Dean grabbed a can of cat food off the top of the fridge and turned to snag a spoon out of the dish drainer. Jabba’s air of disdainful superiority was ruined when Dean caught him, legs spread, licking his stitches again.  Sam had told him it was a good thing to let him do it, so he didn’t chastise the fat fucker, just scooped two spoonfuls of the good stuff into his bowl and covered the remainder of the cat food with a plastic lid and tossed it into the fridge.

 

            Dean filled his Oogie Boogie to-go mug with fresh coffee and doctored it with a little sugar and creamer before slipping his boots on and snagging his keys off the table by the front door.  He ran back to his room to grab his phone before leaving his apartment and locking the door behind him. Even though he wouldn’t be opening the shop today, force of habit meant he always locked the door to his apartment, as it was easily accessible to wandering customers when he was otherwise occupied on the shop floor.  He’d often considered enclosing the stairway and building an actual entrance at the bottom of the stairs, one he could lock, but business had been booming and he just couldn’t take the time.  Hiring the job out was also impossible, since he hadn’t even found the time to go over all the applications he had in a pile on his desk downstairs for an extra mechanic.  Charlie had volunteered to digitize his hiring process for him, but like most aspects of his life, Dean preferred the way his dad had done it.  He dressed like his dad, loved the music of his father’s generation rather than his own, even drove his dad’s gas-guzzling ’67 Impala instead of an electric wind-up toy like Sam.  Very few things had changed at Winchester and Sons since his dad had opened the big door in 1986.  There were still two work bays, the same short service counter with its ancient cash register that Sammy had knocked out his front teeth on when he was seven, as an eleven-year old Dean chased him through the shop just as their father was opening the drawer to give a customer their change.  Dean even used the same paper work-orders his father had used, although Charlie insisted on dong his taxes for him electronically now. 

 

            Dean gave the shop floor the most cursory glance, determining everything was where he’d left it Friday afternoon, and clambered out the back door, just barely remembering to lift his boots over the ridiculously tall threshold that still tripped him up 9 times out of 10.  “Not today, Satan,” he muttered as he made his way across the lot to the little, mostly abandoned, playground equipment in the grassy lot next to the shop.  He immediately spotted Charlie dangling from the metal bars set next to each other in a sturdy wood frame, one two feet off the ground and the other four feet up, her hair just barely trailing in the dusty pebbles under the bars.  She grinned upside down at him and flipped over the bar, landing gracefully on both feet before strutting over to the bench facing the paltry playground, where Dean had flopped, decidedly less gracefully.

 

            Charlie kicked his boot and grinned down at him.  Dean squinted up at her in the bright summer sun, it’s light making an orange halo of her short, red hair, “I forgot my sunglasses and you look like an evil angel,” he mumbled, shielding his eyes when she stepped from in front of the sun and sat next to him on the old wooden-slat bench.

 

            She grabbed his coffee and stole a slug, shoving his shoulder playfully as she handed it back to him, “Aww, you remembered how I take my coffee!” she laughed.

 

            Dean scoffed and downed a quick drink himself, “Can’t help it if you drink coffee like a girl.”

 

            “What, I should take it black, like a real man?” Charlie asked.

 

            “Yup, it’d put some hair on your chest,” Dean laughed as he threw back the rest of the still steaming brew.

 

            “Just what every lesbian dreams of, a woman with a hairy chest,” Charlie gibed, “So, spill.”

 

            “Ugh, Charles! It is too fucking early for this shit!” Dean groaned, sliding down the bench and thumping his head slightly on the back.

 

            “Hey! You totally owe me deets for making me worry all night!  I even drove by here to see if you were home yet at 3 a.m., which you were not, by the way, you little vixen! So, like I said, spill.”

 

            Dean looked over at his best friend, her arms crossed and the look that said she wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer on her face.  She’d had the same look yesterday when she’d dragged him out to the Roadhouse to ‘celebrate’ the finalization of his divorce.  The whole ordeal had taken almost an entire year as Lisa proved to be surprisingly horrible, especially considering _she_ was the one who cheated on _him._ Custody and visitation of Ben had been the big sticking point, of course.  Four years he’d raised that boy like his own and he loved him too much to never see him again or not have at least a small role in his life.  The lawyer he’d retained had been the cheapest he could find and a total goofball to boot, but the little guy had gotten the job done, winning scheduled visitations for Dean if he agreed to pay an obscene amount of child support.  Dean was fine with the money, he was doing well for himself and he wanted Ben to continue playing all the sports he liked, which was why he’d tried to save money on the lawyer.  He wasn’t too excited about having to deal with Lisa for the next nine years or so, but he was hoping she’d get over herself eventually.  At the bar, he’d mentioned he wanted to start dating again to Charlie, it’d been over a year since he’d gotten laid, and she’d ran with it, examining every man and woman who walked in the place for screw-ability.  She’d picked out three potential women but no men when _he_ walked in.

 

            The wind of the approaching storm had done a number on the guy’s hair and clothes, his over-sized trench coat billowing out behind him like a superhero cape when the wind caught the door behind him, his hair disheveled into a fucked-out mess, even his tie flipped around backwards.  The dude didn’t even seem to notice the dramatic entrance he’d made as he strode directly over to the bar, ending up right next to where Dean and Charlie sat.  Dean’s slack-jawed fascination with the guy hadn’t gone unnoticed by Charlie and she immediately declared tall, dark, and broody to be tonight’s Winchester-needs-to-get-laid winner.  The guy’s impossibly deep voice demanded a bottle of Jack and a single shot glass from Jo, which he took straight over to a small table in the corner and began pounding shot after shot.

 

            Dean had turned to Charlie and knew right away what she was thinking.  “No, Charlie, just…no,” he had told her grinning face, “Do you even know how long it’s been since I was with a guy?  Aaron, that’s how long.  Seven years, man.”

 

            “But _Deeeeeaaaannn_!” she whined, gesturing to the guy working his way through a bottle of whiskey all alone and glaring at anyone who came within three feet of him, “I think you need a departure from the ladies.  And just look at him!”  She pouted, “He looks so sad and lonely!  You should go cheer him up!”

 

            “What he looks like is righteously pissed off and not at all receptive to a pick up, Charles,” Dean grumped into his beer, but he did steal another glance at the guy, inadvertently catching his eye.  He thought he must be imagining it, but there seemed to be a spark of interest for just the briefest second.  “Besides,” he looked back at Charlie, “he looks like a freakin’ _tax accountant_.  How good could sex be with a stuffed shirt?” he laughed bitterly.

 

            “I don’t know, I think he looks like one of those guys that puts on a good buttoned-down front but is really an animal in the sack,” she mused, head tilted as she considered the guy from across the bar.

 

            “Yeah, fuck it,” Dean mumbled, draining the last of his beer and standing to pluck a shot glass from behind the bar, ignoring Jo’s glare of objection.  “Here goes nothin’” he winked at Charlie and strode confidently over to the tax accountant’s table.

 

            The guy stared daggers at Dean’s boots, but definitely checked him out thoroughly, his eyes raking over Dean’s bowlegs, across his hips where his jeans rode a little lower than usual.  The guy seemed to pause momentarily as he got to the thin strip of skin visible under Dean’s black Styxx t shirt before continuing his perusal up Dean’s broad chest and on to his smirking face.  “Like some company?” Dean asked cheekily, “I even brought my own glass,” he stated waggling the shot glass slightly for emphasis.

 

            Round blue eyes, only slightly bloodshot, met Dean’s green ones and narrowed as the man seemed to consider the question dutifully, “Yes,” he said simply, “Sit,” he instructed, indicating the seat next to him at the little three-top.

 

            Dean’s grin widened as he sat, letting his knee surreptitiously brush the stranger’s on the way. Dean set his glass next to the bottle of Jack and extended his hand over the top of the bottle, “Dean,” he said.

 

            The man took Dean’s calloused and grease-stained hand in his own soft, warm hand, “Cas,” he grunted, like it hurt to give his name.  Dean couldn’t help but be distracted by the guy’s hands.  His fingers were long and elegant, almost feminine, but with a very masculine grip, the nails short and neat, his skin soft but firm.  So, Dean had a thing for hands, sue him.  Cas poured some whiskey into both the shot glasses and picked his up, holding it expectantly toward Dean.

 

            Dean picked his own glass up and clinked the edge to Cas’, “What are we toasting?” he asked wryly.

 

            “The death of love,” Cas stated dryly before swigging his shot back and thumping his glass on the table.  He watched Dean with one raised eyebrow, not even flinching at the burn of the alcohol.

 

            That Dom brow was _doing_ something to Dean, if the tightening in his pants and his increased heart rate were anything to go by.  “I can get behind that,” he laughed and downed his own shot, trying and mostly succeeding in ignoring the sharp tang of the whiskey as it went down.  Over the next hour and with as much effort as he’d ever expended on flirting, Dean dragged Cas’ story of woe out of him piece by piece.  His brothers (all seven of them!) were in the middle of a heated battle over their parents’ estate and it had now degraded into individual lawsuits, brother against brother, each of them trying to recruit Cas to their side through various degrees of pleading, bribing, and blackmail attempts.  He had just found out today that his erstwhile boyfriend, who had left him a month ago, had done so to chase the brother who seemed to be winning this battle of wills and Cas was left feeling disillusioned in both familial and romantic love.  And he was, in fact, an accountant.  Dean’s own personal drama seemed tame in comparison, but he volunteered his reason for drinking away his problems when prompted by Cas.  Throughout the whole conversation, Dean had inadvertently shifted closer and closer to his companion, until their legs were pressed together from hip to ankle and their faces huddled together over a now mostly-empty bottle of whiskey.

 

            At the point in the night when Dean would have made his first attempt to invite someone over to his place, Cas, seemingly unaffected by the copious amount of alcohol he had consumed, took the lead and asked Dean if he wanted to get out of here and head to his place for a little privacy.  Dean swayed slightly with his buzz, immensely impressed with Cas’ tolerance, no one had ever been able to out-drink Dean Winchester except John Winchester and that had been _years_ ago.  His suburban life with Lisa must have made him soft, if he couldn’t keep up with a guy he had to have 30 pounds on.  He studied Cas carefully, from his black, windblown hair to his easy posture as he leaned toward Dean.  Everything about the guy screamed sex and control, things that Dean had been sorely lacking of late, preferring to keep stoner’s hours at the shop and getting most of his calories from a liquid diet rather than cook for himself every night, alone with his cat.  An almost evil smirk spread across Cas’ stubbled face, the glint in his eye telling Dean he already had his answer and he sat back in satisfaction as Dean confirmed what Cas had already surmised.

 

            Dean gave Charlie a nod and a wink as he followed Cas out the door.  Her response was a forefinger and pinkie to her ear in a ‘call me’ pantomime, which he clearly had ignored.  The wind was still whipping every little piece of trash in the street into a frenzy and Dean counted himself in that number, as he trailed behind the Constantine wanna-be in front of him the two blocks to Cas’ apartment.  The other man’s trench snapped and billowed in turns and he didn’t look back once.  Only when they made it to the vestibule of his apartment did he even acknowledge Dean’s presence with a growled out, “Are you allergic to cats?”

 

            Dean smiled, thinking of Jabba, and responded with a, “Nah, man, got one myself,” as Cas unlocked his ground floor apartment door and strode through it, leaving Dean to follow him into the dark entryway.

 

            As soon as he stepped over the threshold and cleared the door, it was slammed behind him and he jumped a bit before he was crowded up against its solid form and kissed to within an inch of his life.  The dorky getup notwithstanding, this accountant could kiss like a porn star.  The fervor with which he applied lips, tongue, and even teeth made it so Dean took a second or two to get on board but when he did, holy Hell, did he melt.  He started to slide down the door a couple of inches as his knees buckled slightly with the heat spreading down his neck and nestling in his groin.  He’d had more than his fair share of kisses, but never had anyone so consumed him so quickly.  All he knew in that moment was the slick slide of Cas’ tongue against his own, as it mapped out the breadth and depth of his mouth, the rough grate of Cas’ stubble tingling across his lips, the warm grasp of Cas’ smooth palms on his jaw, holding him in place and moving his face wherever Cas willed it, and the long, hard line of the other man pressed tight against him, making drawing a full breath even more difficult than it should have already been.  Abruptly, Dean was left cold and wanting, slumped against the door, panting with his mouth hanging open like a dog.  His eyes snapped open in time to see Cas turning as he hung his trench on a hook, toed his dress shoes off, and walked down a dark hallway. 

 

            Dean cleared his throat and hung his battered leather jacket next to the ridiculous trench and kicked his boots off next to the dress shoes.  Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Dean steeled himself to finally end his year-long celibacy with what he still assumed would be mediocre sex.  In his experience, one-night stands could only get so good, without the understanding of your partners preferences and a deep knowledge of their body, it was too often a guessing game and sometimes downright embarrassing if lines of comfort were crossed with a complete stranger.  He reminded himself that his main interest here was to get them both off and get out the door, back to the bar for a few more shots then back home to his normal life.  Dean followed the path he’d seen Cas forge through the dark apartment and was rewarded with yellow light spilling out of an open doorway at the end of the hall.

 

            Cas stood off to the left, in front of a dresser where his tie lay discarded, working on the buttons of his dress shirt.  He glanced up at Dean and nodded almost to himself.  With his shirt open, he pulled the tails out of his slacks the rest of the way and paused to give Dean a look he could only interpret as meaning ‘Well?’.  Dean pulled his t shirt over his head and flung it to the floor and began unbuckling his belt and jeans, waiting for the inevitable comment on his body.  He knew he looked good, enough of his former partners had told him so and he had only increased in muscle mass with age, but Cas didn’t say a word as he dragged his white undershirt over his own head, but he _did_ stare hungrily at Dean the whole time they stripped and that was something, Dean guessed.  Dean let his belt drag his jeans down his thighs and stepped out of his pooled clothes easily as Cas slipped his pants down and off, fussily folding them so as not to ruin the crease and lay them atop his shirts already draped across the top of the dresser. 

 

            The two men stood not three feet apart and watched each other until Dean started to feel like a specimen under a microscope, internally fidgeting at the intense scrutiny.  Ever the man of action, Dean moved toward Cas slowly, almost shyly, until their chests touched with every inhale, using his two-inch height advantage to loom over the shorter man, but Cas simply looked up at him with a calculating regard.  Suddenly, Dean’s face was once again in Cas’ firm grip and he was being kissed soundly as Cas walked him back toward the bed.  The back of his knees hit the bed and he sat heavily, drunk on Cas more than the whiskey and feeling more than a little dizzy with arousal.  In this new position, Dean smirked at Cas’ heaving breath but all his humor fled as he raked his eyes up the toned stomach with its light dusting of dark hair, over the compact chest and dusky nipples, tightened into peaks, and on up to the look of absolutely  _feral_ desire directed his way.  Dean’s eyes went wide, and he gulped under the heat of lust that rushed through him as his heart stuttered in his chest and picked back up at a bracing gallop.  Cas raised that brow again, glancing down at himself and back to Dean’s mouth, which Dean subconsciously swiped with his tongue and watched Cas’ face darken further before looping his forefingers in the waistband of Cas’ boxer briefs and tugging them slowly down. The impressive erection that Dean freed had him catching his breath again.  It’s been _so_ long since he saw another man’s arousal, much less been close enough to _smell_ it, but his mouth watered at the salt-tangy scent of the little bit of precum smeared across the purple head.  As he slid the briefs down Cas’ surprisingly muscular thighs, his blood-heavy cock flopped out toward Dean’s face and his first instinct was to grab the base and lick that smudge of wetness off, moaning as the warm penny flavor spread across his tongue, the hiss of Cas sucking his breath in through clenched teeth not going unnoticed by Dean.

 

            Staring up at Cas as he worked him over, Dean was very much aware of how he must have looked, wide green eyes and plump, spit-shiny lips, laving his tongue over and around Cas’ dick.  Spearing the tip of his tongue in to retrieve the precum, which was now practically pouring out of the slit, Dean gave into the impulse to swallow as much of this cock as he can manage and yeah, it’d had been awhile, but deepthroating is just like riding a bike, right?  He was wrong, but Cas’ yelp of surprise was worth the slightly choked off gag and the watering eyes as Dean’s throat lost its cherry.  Again.  Cas’ hands on his shoulders halted him in his singular focus and he looked up in time to see Cas’ eyes squinted almost shut.  With a grim look of determination, Cas pushed him gently back until he was laid out flat on the bed, legs still dangling over the edge.  Dean stared up at the shadows on the ceiling as Cas slid his briefs over his hips, lifting his ass off the bed enough to allow their further passage, and then he was completely naked.  After a beat, Dean looked up to see Cas just staring at him, his cock jumping at the attention and Cas’ cock twitching in response, like their dicks were doing more communicating than they themselves had the entire time in the bar.  Dean smirked at the idea and Cas’ look of concentration but that morphed into confusion when Cas rounded the bed and disappeared from Dean’s view.  The man reappeared a moment later with a tube of lube and a condom, his head tilted in question at Dean.

 

            Dean huffed at the assumption he would bottom but stupidly nodded in agreement when Cas casually stroked his thick cock while he awaited an answer.  He was rewarded with another one of those triumphant grins and Cas immediately dropping gracefully to his knees between Dean’s legs.  He picked Dean’s ankles up in a tight grip and placed his feet flat on the bed before scooping his hands under Dean’s ass and sliding it down the bed until Dean was spread out like a butterfly pinned to a corkboard.  The first hot ghost of breath over his balls had Dean sucking in a breath and twisting the comforter up in both fists for something to hold onto.  He looked down the long line of his body just in time to see Cas’ tongue snake out before the man buried his face in Dean’s balls.  Zings of electric pleasure ricocheted through his lower half as Cas licked, sucked, and nuzzled his balls.  If he had been capable of coherent thought, Dean would have commented on the man’s fascination with testicles, but under the onslaught of Cas’ mouth, all he could come up with was stuttered ‘ungh’s and ‘mmhm’s.  Cas moved up to licking along the length of Dean’s cock, pushing it into his stomach with the force of his tongue before suckling gently on the head, causing Dean to gasp and raise his head up again to watch Cas’ big blue eyes glint at him mischievously.  Cas made his way back down as Dean let his head fall back to the mattress and tried to think of something gross to keep from coming too soon.  No one but Dean had touched his cock in over a year and his daily jerk off sessions had become more a matter of routine maintenance than any sort of pleasurable respite, more akin to brushing his teeth than sex.  Consequently, Dean’s mind was more on not embarrassing himself in front of his sexy-as-all-Hell hookup than enjoying what the guy was doing to him until a flare of pain erupted from his inner thigh when Cas bit him.

 

            “ _Jesus fuck_!” Dean cried out even as Cas was soothing the bite with his tongue.

 

            “Stop thinking so loud,” the man between his legs growled out.  Dean huffed a response and tried to relax as he heard the click of the lid on the lube.  A warm, wet digit circled Dean’s twitching pucker as Cas went back to snuggling up to Dean’s balls and all his breath left him in a whoosh.  The distraction of a finger at his hole was enough to back his impending orgasm off, so Dean relaxed into it when Cas pushed in up to the first knuckle, tugging and prodding at Dean’s tight rim.  This, at least, was something Dean could do, and he gave himself over to the requisite stretching, not expecting to get any real pleasure out of it.  A few interminable moments later, once Cas had worked him up to two fingers sliding easily in and out of his slick hole, Dean was floating but flagging, his cock softening in the lull despite Cas’ continued testicular tongue bath.  Rubbing along his inner walls, Cas suddenly found the hard knot of Dean’s prostate inside him and _tapped_ it, causing Dean to jolt back to Earth with a squeak and his dick to jump back to attention.  Cas chuckled lowly as he added another finger and alternated between scissoring motions and spearing Dean’s prostate until Dean was writhing and gasping before him.

 

            As he stood up, Cas slid his fingers out of Dean and wiped them on a towel he’d gotten from only God knew where.  Dean panted and whined at the loss. Cas flipped his hand up toward the headboard and Dean got the hint, scooching back up the bed until he hit pillow as Cas smoothed the condom down his dick and applied fresh lube.  He crawled up the bed after Dean, reminding Dean forcibly of the Sunday morning National Geographic documentaries of his childhood, the ones where the lions stalked the gazelles through the veldt.  Cas grabbed Dean’s legs behind the knees and pushed them up and out, surprising Dean with his own flexibility and quickly lining his cock up with Dean’s twitching entrance with one hand while bracing on one of Dean’s bent knees with the other.

 

            Cas stopped and pinned Dean with a look and _that goddamn brow_ , “Ready?”

 

            Dean nodded dumbly, eager to try to fit that monster cock into himself, despite the fact that he’d never taken anything like that size before.  The only other guy he’d ever gone this far with as a bottom had been Aaron and they had been pretty well matched in size.  Even those times Dean could count on one hand, since Aaron had preferred to bottom.  There was just something about this guy, he was so _intense_ , it made Dean crave that feeling of being _owned_ , even through his faint haze of fear at getting his ass annihilated.

 

            Nearly silent up to this point, Cas seemed to unleash as he squeezed through the first tight ring of muscle, a low and long groan escaping him as he bored into Dean with those eyes.  Dean let out the breath he was holding and tried to concentrate on the word ‘loose’ as Cas worked his massive cock further and further into him.  The stretch was impossible, the burn a fire from the pits of Hell, no one had ever been this full in the history of Man.  It stole Dean’s breath and all logical function shut down in his effort to breathe again as Cas uttered a seemingly endless string of filthy praise above him.

 

            “Yeah, fuck yeah, so tight,” Cas grunted, “Shit, Dean, come on...fuck yeah, take it…fucking take it…ungh, yeah, like that…take my cock in your tight ass…so hot…so good for me, aren’t you…pretty…so beautiful like this, taking it so good…gonna fill you up so good…gonna fuck this tight ass so hard…you like that, Dean?  You like my big cock filling you up, stretching you out?” Cas kept up the litany until he bottomed out with a growl and a heaved breath across Dean’s sweaty chest. 

 

            While Dean adjusted, and Cas tried to collect himself, Dean grabbed onto Cas’ straining arms, the muscles bulging obscenely in his effort to keep himself in check.  Dean gasped for breath and whimpered, “God…so big…fuck, Cas…I don’t…too much…I can’t…”

 

            Cas dropped to one elbow and smoothed his other hand though Dean’s sweaty hair, his face softening as he nuzzled against Dean’s jaw, whispering his words into Dean’s skin, “Shh, yes, you can, you are, you’re doing it, you’re doing so well, so beautiful, just lovely like this.  Just give it a minute, it’ll feel so good, I promise.  Stop thinking about it and kiss me.”

 

            Dean latched on to Cas’ soft lips like a lifeline, his hands leaving Cas’ arms to card through that untamed mane, fingers tightening against Cas’ scalp to turn him how Dean wanted, slotting their mouths together at a better angle.  Dean fucked Cas’ mouth with his own, wet and desperate until his panic abated under the soothing slide of lips, the gentle pressure with which Cas’ lips answered, the steady pressure on his prostate overriding the burn and sending sparks careening behind his eyelids.

 

            Cas pulled back just enough to speak softly against Dean’s lips, “Breathe with me,” before pulling out just a bit then pushing back in, drawing a guttural moan from them both.  He picked up the pace when he saw Dean was fully with him, their eyes locked as he began thrusting in earnest.  When Dean threw his head back against the pillows and cried out, Cas knew he’d hit the spot and focused all his efforts to repeating that angle exactly.  Aaron hadn't been nearly this big, nothing had ever made Dean feel so incredibly  _full_.  As Cas gathered Dean’s legs up to hook over his elbows, he braced his knees on either side of Dean’s ass and pummeled his prostate.  Folded up like origami and being fucked with the biggest dick he’d ever seen in real life, Dean’s hands flew up to Cas’ surging shoulders, out to his sides to grip the bedding, up to his own head to yank at his hair, back to Cas to grab at his arms, an endless cycle of mindless pleasure pulsing though him and driving him insane.  Someone was punching out grunts of ‘fuck’ and ‘yeah’ and ‘shit’ and Dean finally realized it was him as he thrashed as much as he could under the assault of the monster on top him, inside him.  Cas’ face was still so close, Dean could feel every huffed-out breath, hear every whisper of dirty devotion, feel every slick slide of his cock caught between two sweaty stomachs.  He felt his orgasm sneaking back up on him in the heat pooling at the base of his spine and tried to warn Cas, “I’m…I’m gonna…ungh, fuck, Cas…”

 

            Understanding lit Cas’ eyes up anew and he sped up an already merciless pace, growling out in that graveled voice, “Yeah?  You wanna come for me?  Gonna come on my cock?  Fuck yes you are, come on my cock, Dean.  Do it. Come for me.”

 

            And that was all it took, just a massive dick in his ass and a filthy mouth in his ear, and Dean was exploding into a million points of lights, his body expanding and floating for a brief second before he imploded like a super nova, his vision whiting out into nothingness.  He dimly heard Cas’ grunt and felt the stutter of his hips before he stilled and filled the condom with a warmth Dean could feel inside.  By far the hardest he'd ever come in his life, Dean Winchester blacked out.

 

            As Dean came back to himself, the first thing he registers is the weight of Cas sprawled across his chest and a thumping ache in his ass, but he just can’t seem to care at this point.  A lazy smile stretches his lips as Cas looks up at him sheepishly, muttering an apology for crushing him.  Dean slurs a ‘S’okay’ and eased his knees down with minimal audible creaking as Cas slid over to lie beside him, his hand still spanning Dean’s chest possessively.  Dean turned over to face Cas and couldn’t keep the look of awe off his face, so he looked down to where his jizz was smeared across Cas’ stomach in pearlescent swipes.  He _really_ liked the look of that, so he rubbed it in a little more with his fingers, laughing lightly as Cas’ muscle jumped under his touch.  “Ticklish?” Dean asked playfully but when he looked up at Cas’ face, all he saw was a kind of resigned sadness. 

 

            Dean cleared his throat and turned back over onto his back before sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.  Right, he told himself, get in, get off, get out.  He wasn’t entirely sure he would be able to walk just yet, but he was sure as Hell not giving this guy the satisfaction of watching him wobble around the room like a newborn calf.  Dean took a deep breath and gathered every ounce of that legendary Winchester stubborn streak around him, stood up, and gathered his clothes, pulling them on smoothly, like he did this every other day.  Cas watched him from the bed, silent again, his cool gaze giving Dean the courage to put on his own air of nonchalance.

 

            As he headed out the bedroom door, Cas opened his mouth to speak, but Dean really didn’t want to hear the dismissal the guy was clearly ramping up for, so he cut him off with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  “Well,” Dean said with as much bravado as he could muster, “this was great. See ya ‘round, buddy.”  And with that, Dean was down the hall like a shot, snagging his boots and jacket and plunging out the door into the vestibule, pulling his boots on as he hopped out the front door of the building and swinging his jacket on.  He practically ran the two blocks to the Roadhouse and jumped in his car, speeding out of the parking lot before he could be tempted to turn the car back towards Cas’ apartment, and headed home.

 

 

 

            “That’s it?” Charlie asked incredulously.

 

            Dean half-shrugged, glaring into his mug like it’s lack of more coffee had personally offended him, “Yeah, I guess,” he sighed and looked at Charlie’s shocked face, “What the Hell was I supposed to do, Charlie?  It is what it is, or was, I guess, just a hookup.  No harm, no foul,” he tried to keep his tone light but knew she’d see right through him if he didn’t ditch her soon.

 

            He stood up and rounded the bench, clearly making for the garage door, “I gotta go, man, but, uh, thanks, ya know, for last night.  Love ya,” he sputtered, turning to flee for the safety of home and ignoring Charlie’s gaped-mouthed stare.

 

            “Dean Winchester!” he heard her call after him, but he wasn’t stopping until he was away from her knowing eyes.

 

            “See ya, Charles,” he called back with a wave, not turning around as he tripped over that _goddamn_ threshold for the umpteenth time like the smooth bastard he was and disappeared into the dark of the garage bay.

 

            Charlie fished her phone out of her satchel and immediately fired off an angry text.

 

**{From: You}**

_What the H did u do 2 my boi?_

**[From: Angelboy]**

_I did nothing.  Or are you referring to the sex?_

            Charlie shook her head at Cas’ proper texting but it sounded just like him.

**{From: You}**

_He’s frikkin heartbroken, u ass!_

**[From: Angelboy]**

_I assure you, he is the one who left so abruptly.  In fact, I was unable to procure his cell phone number or even his last name.  I had every intent on inviting him to stay the night, but he made it clear he wanted nothing more out of the encounter.  I will further assure you, I wanted much more._

**{From: You}**

_UGH!!! MEN!!! Idiots, all of u!! Alrite, u got 1 more chance  2nite at 8, same place  don’t b late this time!_

**[From: Angelboy]**

_Yes, your Majesty_


End file.
